Awake Dreaming
by aliceann
Summary: Neal's kidnapping leads to a collision between a past he's tried to forget and a dark future his captors have planned for him. A frantic Peter and team desperately seek to find him before its too late. They get help from the unlikeliest of sources. In the end, Neal's worst enemy may be himself as he struggles to survive. Warning: psychological torture.
1. Chapter 1

**Awake Dreaming**

**Chapter 1**

"If you promise to behave, I'll take the hood off."

He blinked away the sweat dripping into his eyes; drawing short shallow breaths. He was desperate but he'd be damned if he would admit it.

"Okay," he nodded as the hood lifted. He kept his gaze steady masking any sign of anxiety or fear.

It was night already, as he watched the unfamiliar landscape pass by from the rear window. Rain was coming down in sheets as the van travelled at a steady pace. He caught his reflection in the grime stained window when a flash of lightening illuminated the cramped space. It was his six year old self looking back at him. Memory was a tricky thing. He was slouched in the passenger seat as his mother drove. She stared straight ahead with bleary eyes and never once looked his way.

Rain drummed on the roof of their Chevy Impala, then rivered down the cracked windshield. Mom was drunk again. She had her reasons, reasons he wished his six year old self understood. He thinks things would be better for her if she wasn't weighted down by him. He could see it in her face. It was why she was so sad and distant.

The road was dark and the car drifted into the opposite lane.

"Please, Mom," his voice trembled as he started to cry.

"Jesus Christ, Neal. Calm down, don't be such a baby. You know I'm a good driver." Her cigarette shook slightly making tiny puffs of smoke like in the cartoons.

Then she plowed right through the Danger sign over the Old West Bridge. She wouldn't remember when they finally made it home. She never remembered. After a while, it was no longer scary to cross the bridge. He stopped crying and learned to be calm, even when panic as icy cold as the river below the Old West Bridge filled his heart.

Some memories never go away, no matter how much you try to forget. He wanted the past to stay locked away where he put it, trapped at the intersection of hope and reality, on a weathered old bridge. The boy in the window slowly disappeared as the Manhattan skyline rapidly vanished into the haze behind them. He wondered if he'd ever make it home again.

He turned from the window and looked into the eyes of the man seated next to him. The man holding the hood, it was the man who took him from the park, the man with the boots.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I collect debts. After that is none of my business."

The van began to slow, tires bumping over a deserted gravel road. The rain stopped. The larger of the two men riding upfront in the van kept his eyes on the road, the smaller one watched him through the rear view mirror. Headlight beams revealed two figures standing off in the shadows. He pondered various strategies he could employ to escape, considered his odds. There was no good solution.

"Sorry, but the hood goes back on," the man with the boots said flatly.

"What? You said if I behaved."

"That was when you were my problem."

He hated the suffocating feeling under the hood, being blind. His heart was pounding against his ribcage as the man slid it back on.

Someone took his arm, pushed his head down and pulled him from the van. They were talking, but the jack hammer beat of his heart drowned out most of the conversation. He'd been in enough negotiations to figure out the essentials, the delivery had been made.

If he was going to improve his odds it had to be now. He stumbled backwards and fell hard into the man holding his arm, taking them both to the ground in a tangle. His elbow caught the unsuspecting driver in the ribs, the man groaned as he foisted him to his feet. Neal wavered for a moment, breathing deeply.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled.

The van's engine turned on and soon the rolling crunch of tires on gravel disappeared in the damp night air.

Different hands were on his body now, pushing and pulling him forward. His feet crunched over the gravel road, until he reached what he assumed was a building. He was standing on what felt like concrete flooring. He could hear the hum of machinery in the background. They walked for some distance before he heard the click of an automatic locking device, a door opening. He was ushered into a room and pushed down into a chair. A man removed his hood. He took a gulp of sterile air. The room was white, mostly empty for a small bed and toilet.

"I don't feel so good," Neal swallowed hard in quick succession.

"You'll be all right," the man said.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he doubled over and dry heaved.

"Shit, don't you puke in here," the man hurried from the room.

He didn't have to sell it much, adrenaline and nausea coursed through him. He had seconds maybe to get free of the flex cuff binding his wrists. There was just enough give. He pulled the phone he lifted off the unsuspecting driver from his sleeve, being a world class pick pocket had substantially improved his odds. It took a moment for his fingers to cooperate with the texting. This was his only chance. He could hear footsteps rapidly approaching. A second more was all he needed.

A blow to his head sent him and the chair over. The last thing he remembered was the phone crashing to the concrete floor. Had he hit send?

**wcwc**

"Good evening Neal. My name is Joseph. We've been expecting you." A man in a dark suit was leaning over him. The suit looked all wrong for him Neal thought. His voice was remarkably even, almost peaceful.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like someone hit me in the head," Neal winced as he touched his temple.

"For someone as notoriously smart as you Neal, that was incredibly stupid. I'm afraid even NSA can't track a signal here. Get him up."

The two men flanking him got Neal to his feet and back into the white plastic chair. Joseph motioned for one of them to bring him a hypodermic needle on a tray behind them.

"Now this is going to hurt, Neal. Really hurt," a faint smile crossed his face.

**wcwcwcwcwcw**

Dianna was at her desk when Peter walked in. Coffee was going. She followed him into his office carrying two mugs.

"Peter, what's going on?"

"Neal disappeared late this morning. The Marshal's report came in at 10:30am. He cut his anklet. I asked Jones to get everything we have on his tracking data."

"Done," Jones walked in with a file in his hand. "This is a report of Neal's movements. It shows the anklet was cut on the perimeter of the park reservoir near east 90th."

"You're kidding me, right?" She placed the mugs on the desk. "Why would Neal run?"

"Thanks," Peter took the mug of coffee. "It's why I'm here. I've convened the team along with representatives from the Marshals to meet in thirty minutes. I appreciate you both coming in ahead. I wanted you to hear this from me first. I'm not going to D.C."

"Peter, we can find Caffrey with you in D.C. This isn't exactly our first rodeo," Jones shook his head and placed the file on the desk. "I don't understand why you keep taking hits for this guy. Why we keep taking hits for him."

Peter understood Jones's frustration, hell he shared it. He had watched with pride as Neal easily settled into the job four years ago, and a little envy if truth be told. He was smart, breathtakingly smart. They were better as a team now because of Neal and they all knew it. He never imagined when he took Neal's deal they would become friends. He didn't want to believe it had all come to an end.

"Neal requested an early release. His work on our team, especially his work in capturing Rachel Turner was taken into account, and administration approved it."

"So what am I missing? Diana looked at Peter. That's good news right, not the kind of news that would make you cut your anklet and run."

"They took it away. Bruce called me this morning, said the Bureau reconsidered. They felt Neal was too much of an asset to be released now."

"Okay, so he doesn't get early release," Jones was angry. Caffrey's still got a sweet deal, Peter. I don't get it, just serve the damn time he signed up for. You have given him every chance to do the right thing. Put your career on the line, how many times?"

"It's complicated. Bruce all but said, the Bureau could keep Neal on anklet indefinitely. He doesn't deserve that. You do your time and you get your freedom, that's the deal. I told him not to do anything crazy. That we'd find a way."

"You told Neal Caffrey not to do anything crazy, seriously?" Dianna sat down.

"I hoped I was getting through to him," Peter looked out at the city below. "The system failed him and so did I."

"It's not your fault, Boss."

"How could he reform when we asked, all but demanded that he continue to perform criminal acts. I'm responsible for him and I'm responsible to make sure he's brought to justice. I can't do that in D.C."

Jones didn't look quite as convinced, but for now he didn't have much choice.

"Let's get to work." Peter picked up the file. "We do this by the book, the Caffrey playbook. What's the first thing Neal would do?"

"Get in touch with the little guy, if he's not already with him. I say we find Mozzie, we find Caffrey," Jones suggested.

"Not necessary, Dianna said reading the text that had just come in on her phone. Mozzie's here. He says he won't talk to anyone but you, Peter. He's in the back hall conference room."

**wcwcw**

"I see you've brought in the bloodhounds," Mozzie nodded toward the team assembled in the large conference room across the hall. "He ran. That's what you're telling yourself?"

"Now's not the time, Mozzie," Peter frowned with annoyance. "If you know where he is…"

"If I knew, this would be the last place I'd come. You'd do better asking your fellow suits who want to keep Neal a prisoner."

"Don't be ridiculous. You have no idea what you're talking about. I'm doing everything I can to salvage this."

"Save the sob story suit… how you risked your job, how you gave a born criminal a chance. It may have worked on Neal, but I know better."

"You don't know anything. Neal deserved his freedom, but not like this. Cutting his anklet, running….this was Neal's choice. Don't you dare put this on me!"

"It's always been about you, pretending to be his friend, his father. He'd do anything for you, and you just used him up and threw him away, infecting him with false hope. You're no better than James when it comes down to it. You're worse. At least he pimped out his son for more than a fancy view and a promotion."

"Shut up!" anger rolled through Peter cold and sharp. It was too late to stop. He moved instinctively, slamming the smaller man against the wall.

"Make you feel better?" Mozzie's face filled with a cold rage. "Neal was desperate to wash away the sins of his father and you were too selfish to see it. All you could see was a criminal."

"What are you talking about?" Peter eased his forearm off the balding man's chest.

"Neal mortgaged his soul to Hagan for a get out of jail free card for you. Hagan had the D.A. in his pocket. If Neal stole the coins, you would be a free man. After that, Hagan owned Neal. But it seems he wasn't the only one, pulling the strings," he gave a little snort.

"That's rich coming from you. Look in the mirror, you self- serving little bastard. You've manipulated Neal from the beginning, held him back for your own advantage. Get out, before I throw you in prison where you belong!"

Mozzie studied Peter for a minute, his face closed. "I promise if you or the people you work for have anything to do with this…"

"What? You came here to threaten me, is that it?"

"I am going to bring him back. And when I do, I'm taking him somewhere you'll never find him." He walked away.

Peter had to take a deep breath, make an effort to calm down. He leaned heavily on the desk, trying to clear his mind. Why hadn't Neal come to him? He would never have let him make a deal with Hagan, no matter the consequences to himself. His head was filled with static and his chest was tight. He felt the weight of someone's gaze and lifted his head to see Dianna.

"Boss, you okay?"

"Yeah."

"What did Mozzie have to say?"

"Nothing helpful."

"We just got some new information on Neal's anklet. I think you might want to hear this." She walked him back to the office, concern etched on her face.

"What do we have?"

"Caffrey's anklet was found in the back of a pick up near Battery park."

"The owner of the trucks been cleared." Jones added the new sheet to the file.

"An obvious misdirect, classic Neal," Peter scrubbed his hand through his hair.

"Yeah, and he has at least an hour on us. He could be anywhere."

**wcwcw**

Six hours later they were no closer to when they started. Peter was sitting quietly, his cup of coffee gone cold. He rubbed his hand absent mindedly over the desk where so many mornings Neal and he exchanged playful banter. A faint buzzing sound broke the silence, then repeated.

"Somebody going to get that?" Peter looked up from the same report he'd been poring through for the last hour.

"Peter, I think it's yours," Jones nodded toward the offending sound.

"Oh, right." He crossed the room to his jacket and lifted his phone from the pocket. The incoming message icon flashed. His face paled as he read the screen.

"Boss, what is it?"

Holding the phone like it was a lifeline, he could feel the vibration move through his fingers and up his arm into his chest where it shook his heart. Dianna touched his forearm, gently taking the phone from his hand. The text read simply.

_Help me…Neal_


	2. Chapter 2

**Awake Dreaming**

**Chapter 2**

When he opened the door to their brownstone, she was angry.

He apologized hoping it would diffuse the situation. She was still annoyed.

"Why didn't you call me when you found out? I had to hear from Dianna, Neal ran. I can't say I blame him."

"I'm sorry El," he said again. "We really didn't have anything at first." He looked pale as he made his way through the maze of boxes marked fragile lining their kitchen floor, taking cautious steps as if he might brake something.

"Peter, talk to me. What's going on?"

"Hon, Neal's been kidnapped."

"Oh my God, Peter." She brought her hand to her mouth. "Who would have taken Neal?"

"We don't know. The Bureau's working every lead, but it doesn't look promising. He managed to send a text, but it's virtually untraceable." He looked so drained.

"I'll call the movers."

"Don't," he said quickly.

"What are you saying? I'm not leaving with Neal kidnapped. I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone."

"I won't be alone. We talked about this. We'll talk everyday just like we promised. Neal's kidnapping is the Bureau's top priority now. I just came home to change. Hon, you know how this works."

"I do," her voice faltered.

It had always been hard these kind of cases, especially when one of their own was involved. Watching Peter leave their house…..walking out their front door; waiting was hard..being left was harder.

She imagined someone else's wife waiting …waiting for a husband who would never return. She felt guilty that she prayed it would be someone else and grateful when he came back to her. She never let herself cry. She kept it deep down, and tucked her fear away. They were so close to putting that all behind them.

"What aren't you saying? Is this about my taking the job?"

"It's what you wanted. You said it yourself, it's your dream. Honestly, I will keep you up on everything, when I know something you will too."

There was a time before Neal when all they needed was each other, it was as if no one else in the world was alive. For a moment she wanted that back. She never wanted to come between them, she never wanted this.

"It is what I want, but not at any cost. You seriously think I can walk away now, just like that. You think this job means more to me than you?"

"That's not what I said."

"You didn't have to. You're angry aren't you?"

He was, but not with her. He was angry he didn't see what Neal had done to free him, angry he put him in a position to think he had no choice but that one. He was angry he couldn't protect him.

He hadn't felt right about any of this, Rebecca or Rachel or whatever her name was. Hagan, the whole affair with Pratt and James just showing back up in Neal's life all felt wrong. How did Rebecca amass all that intel? She had intelligence on Elizabeth, on her family. He had no idea who took Neal and they could be after Elizabeth as well. He couldn't let that happen.

"Peter say something, you're starting to worry me."

"I don't know how long it's going to take to find Neal. I don't even know where to start."

"You will be able to find him, right?"

"I'm going to do everything I can to find him. I owe him that. Hon, you've spent more nights alone than you ever should have while I chased Neal."

"But this is different now, Neal is your partner. Neal's your friend."

He tried to control his breathing.

"I think it's best if you moved to DC like you planned."

"Best for who? Are you really telling me you'd be better if I weren't here?"

He loved his wife. He felt it deep within him, sometimes even now he still got dizzy when she walked into a room. He loved how strong and kind she was. He loved her in places he had yet to discover. He loved that she would forgive him. The thought of causing her pain made him sick. The thought of lying to her… but it was too dangerous now.

"You're serious aren't you?" She saw the expression in Peter's eyes.

"I'm asking you to respect my decision on this."

"Your decision? When did that happen Peter? We work because we're a team, one gets cut the other bleeds. Don't do this, Peter," she couldn't hold back the fear flooding her. "Don't shut me out."

She waited but he didn't respond and it was if something settled between them.

"You're really going through with this, aren't you?" She shook her head, she wasn't prepared for this.

She walked over and put her head against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her sweetness.

"I trust you…you know that," she looked up at him.

All he could do was nod, because he couldn't breathe. What he wanted to say is, _I can't possibly handle losing you both._

**wcwcwcwcwcwcwcwcwcw**

At the edge of what he could endure; Neal felt for the wall, then leaned against it shivering. He clutched himself tightly trying to still the shaking. His arms hurt where he was holding them. The slightest pressure was excruciating. Even his own sweat stung his skin. His senses were in overdrive. His heart was pounding against his chest so hard he thought he could see it pumping beneath his skin. It was so loud, so loud. Whatever they had given him, was tearing at his brain. The walls closed in and then they expanded. He thought he could hear them. He covered his ears but it wasn't enough. He felt lost, completely fucking lost.

The door opened and Joseph walked in, he'd changed his clothes.

"I came to see about you. How are you feeling Neal?"

"How do I look?"

"Not so good. The drug we gave you… P64, should be wearing off shortly. It's one we're currently testing. It heightens pain perception without any physical cause, a condition called psychogenic pain. A nasty bit of business, this drug. Our previous test subjects didn't fair half as well as you, Neal."

"Well, when you say it like that; I don't quite mind feeling like shit." His legs were shaking, he didn't think he could walk. He slumped further into the wall, breathing hard.

"Here," Joseph held his hand out. Neal took it, leaned on him as he guided him down onto the small bed. He closed his eyes for a moment. Everything hurt, his legs, his arms, his head…everything.

In an adjacent room a small group watched the interaction between Neal and Joseph intently, through a one way mirror. A wall of blue screens recorded Neal's vital signs, digital bytes of him racing across its surface. It also showed in minute detail his neural activity. The room was outfitted with an experimental top secret program that could monitor a subject from an array of sensory devices embedded in the very structure of the room itself. The floors, walls, ceiling, even the sheets on the small bed were equipped to monitor the test subject. It could also administer atomized P64 and its more dangerous cousin P65 completely undetected by the subject.

The CIA sponsored technology was officially shut down when test subjects started dying.

**wcwc**

Joseph leaned down over Neal and brought his face close to his.

"You still think you can get out of this. That you're smarter. You're thinking in terms like me and them. It's written all over you. But you see, there is no you, Neal. Only us."

"Us could use some Altoids," Neal shifted away. He gave an Oscar worthy performance of seeming calm, rock steady while everything inside him was flying to pieces.

Joseph stared at him for a moment and then smiled wolfishly. Neal Caffrey would be a challenge and he loved nothing more than a good challenge.

Neal tried to lift his head and the effort caused pain to shoot through his body. He couldn't manage the suddenness of the moan that escaped his lips.

"You can't even control your own body Neal. We control everything about you now. You'll learn." Joseph turned and walked away. He closed the door to the small room leaving Neal alone.

Joseph had been instrumental in the design of the project. A neuropsychologist by training, he was recruited right out of Cal Tech's graduate program at the ripe old age of 19. He was handsome and charming in a dangerous way. Close to 50 now, he'd spent most of his life in the upper echelons of the intelligence agency. The last ten in the developing field of enhanced interrogation. The boy genius had grown into a man obsessed with power and success.

When the first test subject died he was called in by the director of the CIA to oversee the program directly. He had the ear of the president, but when more test subjects started dying the program was officially shut down. Unofficially he was given the green light to continue his work, by a powerful but clandestine group in the company who wanted results no matter the costs. Joseph was perfectly suited to the task.

In the observation room he asked the medical technicians monitoring Neal, to pull up the recording of his vitals on the wall.

"There," he said excitedly pointing to a series of brain waves. They coincided with the last exchange between him and Neal.

"His vitals indicate he is in significant physical distress due to the P64, but neural activity demonstrates resistance. They should be in sync. It's like reverse biofeedback."

"What does that mean?" one of the techs asked.

"With biofeedback a subject is conditioned to use information that their bodies provide from muscle tone, heart rate and pain perception to change a behavior or thought. Here what we are seeing is someone who has learned to disconnect his emotions from his physiology."

Thousands of videos and millions of data later his work may have been coming to fruition.

"Do you know how rare that is?" We may have found our perfect test subject."

"But is that even sustainable? These are his vitals right after the incident, their approaching critical values."

"That's what we are going to find out? Let's see what Mr. Caffrey's made of?"

**wcwc**

Neal was curled on his side, there was no comfortable position on the small bed he could find. He tried to hold himself in, tried not to move. Vision swimming, he shook his head to try and clear it. But his head and everything in it felt like it was vibrating. Then he realized the vibration was coming from outside of him. From the door, from the ceiling, from the walls, even from the sheets, it was some kind of static like white noise. It grew stronger, louder until it filled his ear canals and exploded into his brain.

He recognized bits of sound, it was music. The low tones were almost missing, just the high frequency boomed and pulsed like an irregular heartbeat. The merciless sound pushed down on him from every direction, crushing, screaming at him. In increments of misery he was able to make out that it was a song, a lullaby his mother used to sing to him. He was in a waking nightmare.

A scream filled his throat.

tbc

_Author's notes:_

_Thanks for all the wonderful comments and support. Please continue to review if you feel this story connects with you. I would love to hear your thoughts, good or bad. I've taken some liberties with the neuropsychology aspects, so don't hold me to the facts on that. Next chapter should be up shortly._


	3. Chapter 3

**Awake Dreaming**

**Chapter 3**

_Psychological Profile: Neal Bennett aka Neal Caffrey._

Joseph held Neal's file like it was an offering. The world of intelligence was about to radically transform and he had the key in his hands.

911 was a game changer in the field. Before then, the intelligence community was a disaster. No one talked to anyone, leaving a gaping void in communication. The CIA didn't talk to the FBI, the FBI routinely shut out the DOD and NSA was a world unto itself. When a jumbo jet flew through that void one sun filled September morning in lower Manhattan, Joseph found his opportunity to fill it.

He was widely seen as a rising star in the CIA and pioneered the enhanced interrogation division. He thought he would make his mark there. Opposition politics stalled funding and threatened the closure of his project.

After 911 that world changed forever, money was no object in the pursuit of national security and a desperate nation demanding answers. Whoever controlled information, controlled everything. Without that capability the bad guys win, the Taliban and al Qaeda win. That's how Joseph convinced a broken intelligence community his project held the answers to the threat facing them. A national tragedy was just the lucky break he needed.

P64 the first of his successes had shown promise as a chemical agent that could break even the most hardened terrorist. They shed their secrets like a snake shed skin under its influence. But it was P65 that had the potential to literally transform the landscape of intelligence gathering. It was one thing to break a man down, but to build him into what you want, was quite a different story.

P65, a powerful hallucinogenic, disrupted neural pathways in the limbic system responsible for the storage and retrieval of memory, especially procedural and emotional memory. Allowing for the encoding of new memory. Coupled with sleep deprivation and P64 heightened pain perception it provided not only an unheard level of suggestion, but the ability to write new memories.

It was simple, it was elegant; much like Joseph himself. With the aide of P65 he could reprogram the mind of any terrorist. Return them to their cell completely under company control… not only to gather intelligence, but to seek out and destroy their own operation. He would create the perfect weapon. He got everything he asked for and more.

Never one to rest on his laurels, Joseph dreamed big. He had what most of his colleagues lacked, an abundance of brains and strategic vision.

What if he could create a fully deployable mind? An agent that could do their bidding not only in the shadowy world of terrorist cell planning, but also in the worlds of billion dollar industrial espionage, high tech spying both domestic and abroad. The cold war seemed to be heating up and new strategies needed to be developed. Your garden variety terrorist was useless in that arena.

He would need an operative fluent in those worlds, highly intelligent, with finely tuned people skills and confidence, someone who could adapt to almost any situation, someone with focus like a laser beam. Neal Caffrey's profile said he had those qualities in spades.

Neal had uncommon intellectual gifts and a natural affiliation for complexity, but he was a mass of contradictions. He was a perfect blend of street smarts and superior intellect, responsibility and irresponsibility, playfulness and dogged perseverance. He could see unexpected applications beyond what was originally intended. Working with incomplete facts and bending the rules was exhilarating and stimulating. He liked to take risks.

Joseph's first recruits were volunteers, mainly from the armed services and intelligence communities, patriots. Ninety nine percent washed out, problems with cognitive rigidity and strongly held adherence to societal norms were the main factor. When the first subject died he turned to a population with more natural sociopathic qualities, who wouldn't be missed, an expendable population…convicted criminals. The washout rate was exactly the same, slightly different problem; rigid thought patterns but little or no deeply held attachments. Hundreds of test subjects and quite a few dead bodies later, he believed he had found the perfect candidate.

**wcwc**

Neal held up remarkably well under the influence of P64. Prior test subjects washed out in the first twenty four hours. He was now entering day three.

"How's our test subject doing today?" Joseph smiled as he entered the observation room.

"His vitals are elevated. Theta activity is spiking, fairly consistent with sleep deprivation," his technician offered as he monitored the screens.

"Did you dose the P65?"

"10 minutes ago, his autonomic nervous system should be affected first, his skin will be hot, and vision slightly blurred, mouth dry. Then he should be wide open to suggestion."

"And the music?"

"The music has been playing on a continuous loop for the past 24 hours like you requested," the man adjusted the lever.

"I think Neal is primed for his first test run."

Neal was on his back staring at the white ceiling tiles. He was somewhere beyond sleep but he didn't have the energy to figure where exactly. The sound that had been so devastating was on the edges of his consciousness, mercifully.

The clock in his head had stopped working. He had no idea what time it was, or how long he'd been there. He sat up on his cot and swung his feet over onto the floor. He felt warm and thirsty, very thirsty. He looked around and discovered two things. The music had stopped and his mother was standing in the corner. Then he began to worry. It's not possible he thought. His eyes were wide open, but he was clearly dreaming. How could he be awake dreaming?

"You should drink something she said."

She was wearing jeans and a white shirt. She was young, her dark hair pulled to the back showcasing bright blue eyes that were uncharacteristically concerned.

He stood and walked over to the small sink, held his hands under the tap, drank and cooled his face. He shook his head to clear it, hoping that when he looked up she would be gone. She wasn't.

"Do you need anything, honey?"

"I need to get out of here. Can you help me?" he tried not to look at her.

"This is a good place. You're going to be fine. You'll see."

"What?" he felt dizzy.

"You're hurting now. Believe me, I know how you feel. Trust me."

"Trust you? You've got to be kidding me. All you ever did was lie to me."

He escaped once, he can escape again he told himself. He changed his name. He changed his life. This is crazy. It can't be real. He started to shiver, his heart was racing. He found the chair and sat down. He thought he saw a shadow, he blinked and there was nothing there. His skin was crawling. This isn't happening, this isn't happening he kept saying over and over until his voice was barely a whisper. But it was. Something was happening to him.

_wcwc_

"His vitals are elevated but holding, the technician turned to Joseph as they watched through the one way mirror. Theta activity is all over the place."

"Up the dose of the P65 and take down the audio a decibel. I want him to work a little harder to hear her or in this case, me." Joseph repositioned the small microphone he held in his hand.

"You got it."

_wcwc_

"Neal honey, talk to me. You can't live on endless grief and anger."

"You did. Leave me alone." He couldn't tell if he was shouting or not.

"I'm here now. I'm the only one that can help you."

"That sounds like something out of a Hallmark card, Mom. What are you on? You mixing it up again?"

"That's not fair. You always blamed me. I did the best I could. I'm here now."

"What do you want Mom? An award?"

"Where's your father? He left you again, didn't he Neal."

She moved next to his chair and started to put her arms around him. Instinctively, he pulled away. He couldn't look at her. He just couldn't. He needed to breathe. That's it he told himself, breathe. She's not real, she can't be.

"No one's here for you but me, Neal. No one's coming for you. You're all alone. Your father never loved you. He never loved us. You can still have a normal life. It's not too late."

He put his hands to his stomach, he could feel the contents churning, threatening him. He tried to ignore the pain, tried to pay her no attention. He had to figure out what was happening. He looked down at the floor, tried to center himself and breathe. When he looked up again, she was smiling at him.

"Listen to me, you'll be fine. You're okay."

"I'm not okay. I'm a prisoner in a white room, Mom. What's wrong with you?" his voice was shaking.

"What do you want from me?" he stared at her.

"Why do you keep asking questions when you already know the answer… Neal," she said softly. "I want you to let go. I love you Neal."

She loved him now when it was too late. He was feeling sicker by the minute, desperately sick. Doubling up in pain, he could barely take it much longer. He wanted to run.

_wcwc_

"His vitals are close to the edge of critical but Theta activity is relatively stable. It's remarkable, the tech said almost in awe. Should we go any further?"

"Yes, he's strong and he's fighting it. Let's see how long he can put up this level of resistance. Dose it higher."

The technician looked at Joseph and stiffened, "Are we going to let this happen again?"

"I need to know how strong this attachment is. Do it." Joseph kept his gaze fixed firmly on the screen.

_wcwcw_

"Face it Neal, your father lied to us, he didn't care about us. He's a user. You're all alone here, except for me."

"Stop. Stop talking to me. You never loved me! At least he didn't pretend to be someone other than who he was." He was cold and getting colder.

"No one's coming for you Neal," she put her hand on his.

For a second he felt it inside, the warmness of her body against his. He was falling to pieces, he was losing his mind.

"You're not real. This is a bad dream. Peter will find me. He's the only one I trust." He was rocking back and forth, arms clutched tightly about him. "You're the only one I trust, Peter."

"It was Peter who locked you away in a little room," she was looking at him with such sympathy. "He gave you freedom, but what kind of freedom? He put you in another room but he didn't need to lock it because you were too crippled to escape."

"Get out of my head!" he screamed.

"Think about it Neal, what are you doing here?" Who knows your every movement? He doesn't need you anymore."

"I don't believe you. Please, leave me alone. Please." Neal closed his eyes and slid down to the concrete floor beneath him, his legs drawn up against his stomach. She crouched down over him.

"Why crucify yourself, the harder you fight it the worse it will be for you. You'll break Neal. We all do and you won't even notice when it happens."

**Wcwc**

The most enduring connections we have as human beings are to our earliest objects, our mothers and fathers. That relationship, whether good or bad infuses who we are. It is at the heart of our identities. What made Joseph's research both brilliant and dangerous, was his plan to alter those ties.

He proposed to transfer those connections. Create an operative whose most fundamental connections were no longer existent. With P65 he could write new memories, create new ties, and create someone with no allegiances other than the program.

The subject would no longer be the author of his own story. His memories, his identity...his life would be written by someone else. Project Ghostwriter is what it became known as in the company.

Of all the many obstacles and roadblocks Joseph had overcome to reach this point, he was staring at the main one now. Somehow Neal Caffrey managed to survive the highest and prolonged exposure to the program and yet still resisted its effects. It appears his strongest emotional connection… basic trust, is not with his earliest connections. His most trusted relationship is to one Agent Peter Burke. That connection had to be severed.

**wcwcwcwcwcwc**

He called Elizabeth's cell phone. There was no answer, so he pulled another beer from the fridge. She wasn't there to stop him. The kitchen was still filled with boxes, El had taken some things with her to DC. He sat down on the couch and swore when he couldn't find the remote. Maybe he could catch up on some paper work.

The doorbell rang, he stirred and finally came awake when it rang again. He'd been dreaming. For a brief moment he thought it might be Neal at his front door. It wasn't. It was Dianna, bearing gifts.

"What?" he said sheepishly.

"Don't make me have to call Elizabeth. You know I will." She looked at the wrinkled clothes he'd obviously slept in and half empty bottle of beer.

"She said you wouldn't be taking care of yourself." She pushed passed him into the living room. "Also said you probably hadn't touched the meals she put away for you in the freezer."

"Why do I detect a conspiracy here and what is that incredible smell?"

"I'll take that famished look as a yes," she grinned.

"Is that Hophap's?" he sniffed the bag she was carrying.

"I got the good stuff, pad kee mao with shrimp and drunken noodles. I see you still haven't unpacked any dishes." She was searching the kitchen cabinets for dinner ware.

"Who's minding Theo?"

"Jones," she found a small stack of dinner plates.

"As in Clinton Jones," Peter stopped clearing a space on the table and looked at her incredulously.

"You'd be surprised. He's really good with kids and he offered. I never turn down free babysitting."

"So you're all in on this," he smiled.

Diana tried to stifle a laugh and placed two wine glasses down on the table. Peter came back with a bottle of pinot noir Neal had sent over when he got his promotion.

"How's this?" he asked as he began to uncork the bottle. "It was a gift from Neal."

Dianna could see the worry lines in his face.

"We will find him Peter, she put her hand on his. Now let's eat."

He was such a lucky man to have such good friends and a wife who was taking care of him from a thousand miles away.

"When did you talk to El," he asked.

She called earlier, said Bruce and his wife had gotten tickets to one of the hottest art openings in DC and were taking her out to celebrate the move.

He missed her incredibly. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to laugh again.

"She sounded tired, I don't think she was too enthused. I'm betting she'd much rather be here with you."

"I miss her so much, Di. But it's just not safe. It's not safe for any of you. I wanted her to stay, but it would have been selfish and irresponsible."

"I'm sure she knows it was for a good reason."

"I'm glad she's with Bruce, at least I know she's safe there."

"She said she'll call you after the opening. I guess I need to check on Theo, see if Jones is still alive."

"Di, thanks for taking care of me. You didn't have to do this."

"Of course I did," she came over and hugged him. "Not quite done yet, lets unpack this kitchen." The two busied themselves unpacking. "That's much better. Now, I really better get back."

It was great having someone in the house, it had only been three days but it felt like years. Dianna found the remote, he settled on the couch to catch up on the tournament, when his phone went off.

"Hi, Hon. How was the opening?" all his tension left him.

"Good, but I'd rather be having Hophaps's drunken noodles with my fella. Any news on Neal?"

"No, Dianna spoke to Mozzie and he and Sally have been working night and day to trace Neal's message. As much of a pest as he is, if anyone can crack this I put money on those two. How's Bruce?"

"Still trying to get you up here. All he talked about tonight was how right you would be for this position. He doesn't get it, Hon. Neal's family."

"I know. Bruce has called me every day since Neal was kidnapped."

"Over dinner tonight, he said the best decryption unit in the world is at Langley. He said he could make them available to you and you could work Neal's case from here."

"He's nothing if not persistent."

"When he told me what Neal said, it just about broke my heart again for him. He must have been so terrified."

"Wait, he told you what was in the text? We didn't reveal that to the DC office."

"What are you saying Peter?'

"I don't know….El. But that communication was classified directly by me."

"So how would Bruce know that?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to find out."

Tbc

Authors Notes:

Thank you all so much, for the great reviews and support of my story. This chapter had a little more exposition than usual, I think. I needed to set up more of the before to get to the after. I hope it wasn't difficult to follow. As always I appreciate your thoughts and comments. Thanks for your time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Awake Dreaming**

_Author's Notes_

_Greetings. I'm sorry it's taken awhile to get this chapter up. When I heard of James Rebhorn's passing I wanted some way to acknowledge it, so I decided to work his character Reese Hughes into this story. It took a bit more time than I anticipated. He was a wonderful addition to the White Collar cast and will be missed. It's so sad that our beloved show is coming to an end, with only 6 episodes to wrap up. It seemed fitting that Reese might shed a little light on some loose ends._

**Chapter 4**

"Hello Peter, it's been a long time."

"Thanks Reese for meeting with me."

Reese Hughes shot a glance over to Diana sitting next to Peter in a booth discreetly tucked away into the corner of the restaurant.

"Problem with her being here?"

"I'd be surprised if she wasn't. Diana, Good to see you again." He settled in across from them in the almost empty diner. He ordered coffee, black.

"So what do you have on Caffrey?" he looked over at Peter.

"It's been three days and it's as if Neal just dropped off the face of the earth. No demand for ransom, no chatter from the usual suspects, and now this thing with Bruce."

"What about Caffrey's side kick, any word from him?"

"I've been in contact with Mozzie," Diana offered. He's working his own sources. He and his gal pal Sally have tried to decrypt the signal from Neal's text to Peter, but no success so far."

"What else?" Reese asked.

"I don't know how much longer I'll be allowed to use the full resources of the department in the search. I'm being pressured from the top to turn the investigation over and accept the position in D.C." The exhaustion in Peter's eyes was plain, "We've got nothing."

"Maybe not."

Universally seen as tough and uncompromising, Reese Hughes was a hard ass; but he'd grown fond of Neal Caffrey. Caffrey could be a son of a bitch, but he was loyal. That meant something in a world of shifting allegiances. Caffrey had proved himself when it counted, he'd earned his respect and more than that…he was one of theirs.

Wise to the inner working of the FBI, he'd earned every qualification there was in his thirty years. He knew Bruce and the world he inhabited. He also knew who to call for a favor. Hughes pulled a file from a portfolio he carried under his arm and placed it on the table.

"First you need to read this."

The waitress brought their coffee and they sipped in silence, letting the reality of the report sink in. It was a psychological profile; Neal Caffrey's psychological profile.

"I gave Caffrey shit about always being such a smart aleck. He's a freaking genius according to this." Diana sat back.

"How did you get this?" Peter scrubbed his hand through his hair.

"I've worked this system a long time Peter, I called somebody and they called somebody. This is CIA generated. We are in a totally different neighborhood. The kind of people you don't want to go to war with." He took a sip of his coffee.

"What possible interest would the CIA have in Neal?" Peter stared at the report.

"That's the million dollar question, but this report goes all the way back to childhood. You'll see the profiles were updated over a period well into adolescence. The FBI kept profiles of high value targets and their families dating back to Hoover. The idea was that families could be used as leverage, and the more information they had the better."

"I'm sorry I'm just not following this," Diana shook her head. What makes James Bennett a high value target? He was a dirty cop and a murderer."

"James Bennett had been involved in corruption that reached all the way to the highest levels in the DC police department and beyond. His partner in crime Terence Pratt helped to cover that up. Bennett took the fall. Pratt made sure of that, and then successfully orchestrated a cover up that ultimately launched his career all the way to the US Senate."

"Yeah, that fits with what we had on him. Pratt was dirty as James, if not worse," Peter said.

"Pratt kept an eye on Bennett's family and his partner Ellen over the years through his ability to get access to Wit Sec files. He amassed a detailed amount of information on young Caffrey, including his psychological profiles. He felt he could use his family as leverage if James ever threatened him."

"Pratt felt relatively safe. James was on the run and Neal had turned out much like his old man. In fact, he had been locked away in prison serving a four-year stint. It wasn't until Neal's deal with you Peter, that Neal came back up on Pratt's radar and he began to actively monitor his coming and goings."

Peter sat forward. "Okay, that makes sense but how does the CIA fit into this and Bruce?"

"By this time Pratt had wormed his way into one of the most influential positions in the senate, Chair of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. This was shortly following 911. Ever the opportunist, he knew the immense power this committee would wield. He was a rising star and had more than ever at stake. It was essential that all the dead bodies stayed buried."

"So he started surveilling Caffrey again," Diana looked at Peter. "When I was in D.C. Peter's choice of Neal as his CI was all the talk. And the takedown of the Dutchman got the attention of a whole lot of people in the Bureau."

"Right. Pratt needed someone to keep tabs on Caffrey, he approached Bruce. Bruce and he had worked together briefly in the past."

"This is unbelievable, Reese," Peter shifted in his seat. "Bruce and Pratt conspiring together. Did you suspect them when this all went down?"

"I suspect everyone, it comes with the territory. I had a bad feeling. But no, I had no idea how deep this ran until now. My sources told me the turning point happened when Neal contacted Ellen."

"This was the woman who helped to raise Neal. Do you think she was involved?" Diana asked.

"No, there's nothing indicating she had any role in it. She was also his father's partner. When Neal contacted her it set off all sorts of red flags for Pratt. Then James came to town and Ellen revealed there was a box containing evidence about him. Pratt knew it was just a matter of time before everything unraveled."

"He suspected what was in that box would lead to confirmation of his corruption," Peter added.

"James Bennett had nothing until Ellen's box was made known, nothing he could use against his old partner. He believed, along with Pratt that the evidence Ellen collected would give him the information he needed. James Bennett wanted to destroy Pratt. They were dirty cops together and Bennett took the fall, lost his family…lost everything while watching Pratt rise all the way to the US Senate."

"So that's why James showed back up in Neal's life after all that time. To use him, he was playing Neal to settle an old score," Peter flushed as the anger at how a man could betray his own son came rushing back.

"Pratt needed James silenced for good and Neal out of the way. But by then Neal and Peter had become celebrities of sort, Hughes's said with a wry smile. The Bureau was taking notice and more than a passing interest in the case closures and numbers you and Caffrey were pulling in. And your reputation preceded you Peter."

"What reputation?" Peter seemed puzzled.

"Boss you're a legend in the White Collar Division, every new recruit wants nothing more than to work under you. Hell, that was the reason I jumped at the chance of coming back from D.C.; when you asked for my help. And I have never regretted one day of that decision. Your cases are required reading at Quantico. Your nick name is the archeologist, because you never stop digging."

"As much as I was against your deal with Caffrey in the beginning, the two of you were unbeatable. Pratt knew with James on his trail and the two of you digging into that evidence box, it was just a matter of time. He needed a smart way to get James out of the picture and stop you and Neal. Pratt turned to one of the smartest men he knew, Dr. Joseph Linszky."

Hughes's cell phone rang, he let it go to voicemail. He removed another file from the portfolio, _Project Ghostwriter_ and slid it across the table. . "I know this is a lot to process, but you need to know the entire story. Sorry, I need to take this." He stood, and walked out on to 8th avenue.

Stunned by what they read, Peter and Diana sat in silence.

"This experimental profile, it matches Neal's perfectly," Diana finally broke the silence.

"It is Neal," a pulse beat rapidly in Peter's left temple.

Reese rejoined them in the booth. Diana looked at Peter and Peter looked at Diana. They both looked at Reese.

"What is this Reese?" Peter stared at his old friend. He'd known Reese too long not to see the worry in his face.

"One of the projects Pratt's committee oversaw was this program," he tapped the file in front of them. "It was headed up by Dr. Joseph Linszky a brilliant but controversial scientist in the CIA. Linszky was the architect of the enhanced interrogation program. Pratt headed up the confirmation hearings on Linszky. The program showed enormous potential, right up until the point test subjects started dying."

"That did not go unnoticed by us Reese," Peter was watching him intently.

"The program was officially shut down, but not before Pratt had become a convert and major supporter. The political rift between the left and the right created the perfect opportunity for a covert group that cut across agencies to step in and keep the program going. Pratt provided them political cover."

"Reese, what's going on?" there was a sense of urgency in Peter's voice.

"Pratt needed you and Neal off the case and James in prison or dead. Linszky needed a test subject and Pratt had the perfect candidate."

"Neal, you're talking about Neal," Diana wrapped her hands around her coffee cup to ward off the chill going through her.

"Okay, but how does Bruce fit into this?"

"Bruce's wife had been diagnosed with early stage Alzheimer's and Linszky's project also had implications for an experimental treatment of memory loss. This was a perfect storm of need, opportunity and unfettered power coming together. Joseph would get his perfect candidate, Pratt would finally be rid of James Bennett and Bruce would get his wife back. Problem solved or so they thought."

"You're telling us the guys who have Neal are our guys; the bad guys are our guys," Peter took a deep breath.

"Yes."

"I sent Elizabeth up there with Bruce. God, I thought I was keeping her safe."

"Listen, I have some friends and I've asked them to keep close watch over her Peter. But until this is resolved, I suggest you have her go visit a sick relative out of the area."

"But Pratt's dead and James is in the wind, why do they need Peter in D.C.?" Diana moved closer to Peter.

"Pratt hadn't counted on the resourcefulness of you and Caffrey; a mistake Linszky was determined not to duplicate."

"After Pratt's death, Bruce and Linszky orchestrated everything. They needed the two of you separated. For a time your being in prison seemed the perfect opportunity. Separated from you, odds were that Caffrey would self-destruct, the rate of recidivism among CI's is high. They were sure Caffrey would spiral out of control and return to his criminal ways. Eventually going on the run or back to prison, and then they would take him."

"But Caffrey didn't spiral out of control he focused like a laser on freeing you."

Peter felt a pang of guilt as his conversation with Neal replayed through his brain …. _I should have known… you're a criminal._

"They hadn't counted on the bond between you. They didn't count on you two as partners, as a team. So they had to come up with a plan that would separate you without raising any suspicion."

"They engineered the move to D.C. to get Peter out of Neal's life." Diana added.

"Yes, they needed to drive a wedge between you. Something that Peter would find hard to forgive and that Neal couldn't resist."

"And they were right, Peter shook his head. I couldn't forgive him Reese, even though his motive was true. Mozzie told me Neal was blackmailed into committing crimes to gain my freedom. I was so damn angry. All I could see at the time was his betrayal of everything we had accomplished all our hard work. I practically pushed him out the door."

"Linszky is good, make no mistake about him. He had the perfect lure; something Caffrey couldn't resist… a puzzle, a challenge and that mythical big score…."

"The Hope Diamond, Diana finished his thought. That would tempt Neal to run."

"Linszky had his profile, he knew what drove Caffrey. But he knew you would never stop looking for him. You never give up. They probably planned to stage his death. But Caffrey, that brilliant son of a bitch got a message to you."

"If he knew Neal, really knew him; he would know that's not what truly motivates him deep down. What would have tempted Neal to run, would have been a woman."

Reese sat back with a look of admiration and gratitude. All those years ago when Peter came to him about Caffrey he could see it…there was something special about them, how totally in sync they were, how attuned to each other's rhythms. Like two sides of the same coin. It was a good choice, a good decision. He reached in his pocket and pulled out two photos and carefully laid them down, a picture of a very young Rachel Turner and one of a very young Neal Bennett. Peter couldn't take his eyes off them.

"It seems both of them had been in Wit Sec as children and both had extensive psychological profiles done as part of that process. They had been developed to help in planning for their safety. The profiles revealed a remarkable similarity in terms of IQ, temperament etc. Rachel Turner went on to be recruited into the CIA from her tour in M15 and Neal Bennett fell off the grid only to surface as Neal Caffrey, criminal Renaissance man.

"You think Rachel Turner is involved in this?" Peter's breathing had ticked up.

"How is that even possible, she is in a maximum security prison?" a stunned Diana asked as she looked at Reese in disbelief.

"The question is, what changed Rachel Turner from a fresh faced CIA recruit to a ruthless psychopath and then you might have your answer. The longest any test subject survived Linszky's program has been three days. If he has Caffrey, we don't have much time."

"But how do we find him, Reese? How do we get to Neal before it's too late?"

"The only one who may be able to answer that is Rachel Turner."

"We are going to need help," Peter looked into his old friends eyes.

"I can get you all the help you need." Reese stood and squeezed Peter's shoulder.

"Bring him back, Peter."

Tbc

_Again, thank you all so much for your time and support. As always, I love hearing from you and appreciate any reviews you have._


	5. Chapter 5

**Awake Dreaming**

**Chapter 5**

Rachel Turner sat there dressed in the standard corrections issued orange jumpsuit. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was still surprisingly beautiful, perfect skin and sparkling blue eyes. It was a bizarre scene, almost as if a fashion model posed for a prison shoot. She didn't look like someone serving a life sentence.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Agent Burke? Anyone been shot or decapitated?"

Looks were definitely deceiving when it came to her. He wanted something from her; he needed her and she knew it.

"It's not every day I have visitors," she smiled. "I see you didn't bring along Neal. What? He doesn't have the stomach for his handiwork."

"You put yourself in here," Peter said trying to rein in his emotions. She didn't know, he thought to himself. She didn't know Neal had been taken. Maybe he had some leverage in this game they were about to play.

"I guess you could say, I got what was coming to me. We all do sooner or later."

"You agreed to meet with me, no conditions."

"That was before I could smell the fear on you. I do have just one condition. I'd like a cup of tea. It's so hard to come across a good Darjeeling here."

"This isn't a game."

"Relax Peter, everything is a game. I'd like to point out I'm here helping you with your case or whatever your holding onto in that file. If you prefer, I'll just go back to my cell." She stood to leave, but he waved her back down. He made the call to his contact in the warden's office.

"Now that wasn't so hard was it, Peter? So let's see what you have hidden in there."

He pushed the file across the table. The smile left her face.

"How did you get this?" Her fingers tightened on the green folder.

"A friend."

"Now who's playing games?"

"I was told that you might have information on this program, Project Ghostwriter."

"And why would I give you that information?"

"Because according to your profile, you like a good puzzle and something happened to you when you were a part of this program. I'm betting you're curious."

She eyed him evenly. He was right, she was curious.

"I took part in the program. I was one of their test were official then, secret but fully sponsored by the good old US of A. We were fighting the terrorists and they were kicking our asses. This would have given us a leg up on them, she eyed the report. A lot of good people signed up."

"You joined the CIA." Peter said flatly.

"Not officially, all recruits to the program were unclassified. And besides, it was in the family. My father worked for the CIA. Don't look so surprised Peter."

But he was and it threw him off completely. Just when he thought he had this woman figured out, she completely blindsided him.

"My father and mother were killed when I was almost four, an overseas operation had gone really bad. I was spared; too little to interfere, too little to remember much. So when this project was revealed, I figured I could keep the family business going, serve my country and get rid of a four-year old's memories that never quite faded."

A guard came in with the tea. The room went quiet.

"They had an experimental drug, she cringed at the memory. It worked, at least in the beginning."

"What happened?"

"Let's say there were some unpleasant side effects. People got sick, really sick. Things went south quickly and they hurriedly shut down the program. I lasted three days. How, I don't know. When I finally woke up in the hospital, my memory was gone. I had no idea who I was."

"I'm sorry," Peter said.

"I believe you mean that," she smiled. Dear sweet Peter, you still believe you can save people."

"Little flickers of memory finally came back, but you can't rewind time and start over again. There was something wrong with me, some kind of gaping hole. Eventually I began to remember, thing is… I just didn't feel a thing."

The Darjeeling had gone cold and so did Peter. She could see it in his eyes.

"I was quietly drummed out of the company, medical discharge. By that time my life had already been destroyed. I was a highly trained operative, with ice flowing through my veins. I was capable of the most horrible acts but I felt nothing."

"I became a gun for hire. I was good, I was the best. Later I heard that the program was still operating and people were dying. But you know that don't you. Why are you really here Peter?"

Peter was silent.

"Where is Neal?"

"Tell me, her cold self-assurance now punctuated by fear. Tell me where he is or this conversation is over. Guards!"

Peter raised his hand in a gesture of appeasement, "Okay, I'll tell you what I know."

"They have him don't they? They have Neal."

"Yes, and we have nothing but the fact that both of you were in Wit SEC as children and your psychological profiles. Someone leaked this information to us."

"I want to see them." She knew he had them with him.

"We don't have time."

"We don't have time not to."

He slid the profiles over.

"That bastard. Joseph, he's behind this."

"Dr. Joseph Linszky?"

"Yes, he thinks Neal is his perfect candidate." Her hand lingered over the photo of Neal when he was boy. He had the same smile, charming and a bit sneaky. She wished she had known him when he was that boy with everything in his life in front of him. They were two innocent children, children who were to be protected and kept safe. Linszky was the worst kind of monster.

"He orchestrated this whole thing. When I was hired for this assignment, the buyer made it a point to keep his identity secret. But I hate flying blind, I did some of my own recon."

"And your assignment?" Peter asked nervously.

"Neal was my target, my assignment was to entice him to run. To break up your partnership and have him disappear."

"You fell in love with your assignment." Peter watched her closely.

"I was surprised by it too. I don't feel things. They created a monster in that lab, a Frankenstein of poisoned blood and darkness. Neal made me feel something."

She remembered how he looked right into her with his clear blue eyes, deep insider her, past the monster. She closed her eyes and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly. What she wanted she could never have. She knew that.

"I was going to kill you." She looked across the table at Peter.

"What stopped you?"

"I knew if I killed you, Neal would never love me. He would hate me in the end. I'm broken in ways Neal isn't. I didn't want him to have to go through that."

"I knew with his almost savant puzzle solving skills he would find the treasure, but the real treasure was Neal. I thought with that diamond, I could convince him to run, to run away with me. I thought everything I lost would come back to me with him." She blinked adjusting to the present.

"Why couldn't you convince him? He did love you."

"He loved you more. Fucking love, huh."

Peter sat back in his chair. He had a catch in his throat.

"How long has he been missing?" Rachel asked back on task.

"Four days today."

"No one's lasted more than four days. He won't last five days."

"They will either break him or kill him, and they'll use you to do it."

"What are you saying?" Peter asked nervously.

"You're his Achilles heel. Joseph will want to break Neal's deepest attachment, in order to substitute himself and gain complete control of him. He needs to sever Neal's tie to you. If they succeed in breaking him, make no mistake Neal will kill you. He won't be able to resist the program. It would complete his indoctrination."

Peter was stunned, but he didn't for one moment believe that Neal would hurt him.

"My question to you. Do you love him enough to do what it takes to save him?"

"I got these when I did my recon on the buyer. She wrote a set of coördinates on the file and passed it back across the desk to Peter. "

"You can't trust anyone now. These people have long reaches. Use it. Use it to nail their hides to the wall."

**wcwcwcwcwcwcwcwcwcwcww**

"You said to call you if there was any change, even the slightest. You have to see this to believe it." The technician was uncharacteristically animated as he pulled up the screens for Joseph's viewing. Neal was curled on his side, lying on the small cot.

"He was agitated all morning, tossing and turning. His vitals spiked. I have been slowly increasing the drug as you requested. Respirations 40, pulse rate 130. He's clearly in pain. Brain wave activity is off the chart. He hasn't slept in close to 48 hours. He's at the point of maximum receptivity."

Joseph watches the screen intently.

"Okay… right here, his brain waves start to form a stable pattern."

Joseph continues to watch the patterns up on the screen.

"And there… right there his vitals stabilize," the technician says.

"Play back the video feed to where they start to equilibrate." Joseph keeps his eyes on the data.

The technician begins the process of replaying the video.

"Stop! Right there, replay that again."

"What's he doing?"

"He's talking to himself."

"It's as if his brain is trying to resist the program, he's resisting it."

"No. He's retrieving stored memories."

"How's that possible? P65 blocks the access to stored memories."

"See the activity in his hippocampus. It's lit up like a Christmas tree. The spike is in emotional memory. He's rerouting the program."

_**wcwcwc**_

_Moments earlier_

He heard the whisper of a familiar voice. Ellen.

"Neal, how did I get here?"

"I dreamed you." His vision cleared and he gazed up at her, curious to see her reaction.

"That's a good dream," she said.

She was just as he remembered her all those years ago. Her eyes were still so kind and alive. He remembered the boy he was, in many ways he was still that boy.

He was sitting on the front steps of the home where he lived with his mother, things had fallen apart inside. There was no food in the refrigerator, he had no clean clothes. Mom hadn't washed in weeks. Blinking back tears he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to take care of what was wrong with her. He tried making her toast when she woke up most mornings, but she hadn't shopped in weeks. He couldn't even make toast. He'd always figured something out, but right now panic and hunger was rising in his stomach.

He saw her car drive up, and he knew it would be okay. It was Ellen.

"Neal, what are you doing sitting out here all alone? Why aren't you in school?" But she already knew the answer. Where's your mother?"

"She's sleeping. I can't wake her up." The tears he had been holding back slipped down his cheeks.

"Come on sweet heart," she took his small hand. He stood close to her, she smelled like a garden. His nose was running.

Ellen made breakfast for him and his mom. They cleaned the mess of a house. One day he was going to live in a grand home and go all around the world, where everything glimmered and sparkled and smelled like Ellen. They had pie for dinner, pie he and Ellen baked; truth be told he wished Ellen was his mother. That night he and Ellen went for a walk after his mom was asleep. He was afraid of the dark and being alone, but Ellen made him feel safe. The world seemed enchanted.

"Can you take me with you?" it just came out. Already, he was sorry he'd said it. What kind of boy leaves his mother when she needed him?

"Honey, I can't. I'm going to see that your mom gets help. I promise. Do you understand?" He didn't.

"But I want you to promise me something. Whenever you're in trouble, no matter how far we are from each other, you call me."

"What if I can't find you?"

"I'll be right here," she put her hand over his heart.

"We make a pact, she placed his hand over her heart. He could feel it beating, strong and steady like her. "We will always find each other, heart to heart."

"Like magic?" He was still young enough to believe in magic.

"Exactly, our magic spell."

Despite the growing sickness and pain, he knew he would be alright. He dreamed her and she came. He didn't know if it had been their spell or a prayer, but she came.

_**wcwc**_

"What do you want to do?" the technician turned to Joseph. Should we go on?"

"Failure is not an option. He's the perfect candidate, he has everything to make this project a success. We move forward."

"He's already at the maximum dose we've ever given. No one's survived it."

"Mr. Caffrey it seems is unique, let's see just how unique. Take the dosage up," Joseph took the microphone and dialed up the volume.

_**wcwc**_

Neal felt too weak to sit up, the slightest movement left him dizzy and nauseated. He was burning up with fever. How could he have a fever, when he felt so cold inside? Nothing was making sense to him. There were shadows on the wall.

"Neal?"

"Peter? Peter are you there?" he struggled through the pain to sit up.

"I'm here Neal."

Burning tears of relief filled his eyes, "I knew you would find me. We have to get out of here. Just…just help me get up, I can't walk."

Peter was silent. He stood at the door.

"I can't find my picks, but you can do it. I showed you… just open the door. I want to go home." He sounded like a small boy.

"Neal, you don't look good. You need to rest."

"They won't let me, Peter. They keep me up, they won't let me sleep. I think they might be poisoning me, he whispered. I think I'm dying, you have to help me leave here."

"I'm sorry Neal. I don't know how to help you. I tried, I could never reach you. You're where you belong, someplace you can truly get the help you need."

"No, Peter. It's not what it looks like."

"It never is with you Neal."

"Why won't you help me?" he was getting more agitated as the drug was building inside him.

"You'll be okay."

"Stop saying that. Don't tell me everything is okay. You owe me the truth. You don't need me anymore, be honest."

"Like you were honest with me?"

"I never lied to you."

"You lied to yourself. There are consequences Neal. Your lies hurt people."

"What are you talking about? Who's hurt?" He was scared.

"Mozzie, or should I say Teddy Winters; he's in prison. We found everything Neal. He's never going to see the light of day again. Diana tried to help him, they charged her with obstruction of justice. The FBI fired Diana."

Neal tried to breathe but he felt like his chest was being crushed.

"June tried to help you too. They charged her with being an accomplice. She lost everything, the house, all her savings, she suffered a massive stroke."

"How is she?" his voice was breaking.

"June's dead, Neal."

"There all gone, June, Ellen, Kate; you hurt everyone eventually."

He bent over, his shame was shattering. Neal began to cry. Tears were falling on his shirt and into his outstretched hands. He ruined everything. He didn't deserve to cry but he couldn't stop himself.

"It's hard hearing the truth."

"Stop it, please. Why are you saying these things? This isn't the way it's supposed to end."

"I wish I could have made things turn out differently, but there's no way back from this. I'm so sorry."

He wanted to say, Why? Why?

"I have to say goodbye Neal, it's time."

Neal shivered as he watched Peter leave and shut the door. He was alone. The only sound he could hear was his own breathing. All he could feel was the icy cold poison rupturing his veins. It was getting colder and he was fine with it. What was left of him was disappearing fast and he was fine with it. He could feel the reality of him slipping away, his name…he doesn't know who he is."

_**wcwcw**_

Joseph watched the screen as Neal's neural pathways lit up one by one. Success was finally within his grasp. Neal Caffrey would soon be gone, gone for good. He smiled. It was short-lived, something unprecedented was happening. The electrical activity in Neal's neural networks showed ERP's, event related potentials. He turned to his assistant.

"Pull up the cortical imaging now!"

Neal Caffrey had done something in that room to cheat the program.

"This is extraordinary Joseph, the ERP's are originating here in his anterior cortex. It's demonstrating conflict, he's experiencing the rewriting while at the same time retrieving long-term memories."

"That's not possible. P65 works, it will work. Dose it higher.

No one can survive the amount of chemicals being delivered into his system. He won't survive it. We need to study him, understand this. This is an incredible opportunity.

"Do it or get out."

"I won't be responsible, I…"

Joseph pushed the dose.

_**wcwcwc**_

His consciousness clouded over, he was drifting down into the coldness. It was swallowing him whole. The ice was in his legs and arms, in his chest and the pit of his stomach. Yet he experienced an odd peace and not the panic he knew he should have felt.

A gentle voice made its way through the oblivion.

"Neal, darling,"

He tried to reach out, but he couldn't move. He wanted to remember. But his broken brain couldn't manage it. Voices were screaming at him, he's being crushed by the sounds and images.

"Your all alone Neal. Everyone you've ever loved is gone. Even Peter turned his back on you. It's no use fighting."

He's shaking, shaking apart.

"Don't believe them, Neal. I'm here like I promised you I would be. We will always find each other."

"Ellen, it's not possible. You're dead because of me. I ruin everything. Peter doesn't want me anymore."

"Peter's a good man. I saw it in his eyes."

"I have my father's eyes."

"But not his heart. You have no idea what's inside of you, how special you are."

"Something's happening to me. I won't remember what you told me, I won't remember you."

"You will. The only thing that matters is this moment. Close your eyes darling, you can start again. Remember our pact."

_**wcwc**_

"Dr. Linszky, please. We need to stop the experiment his vitals are crashing. Neural activity is off the charts. His brain is on fire."

Neal desperately tried to hold onto himself. Someone was talking to him, screaming at him.

"You will break Neal, and you won't even notice it."

They were wrong. He did notice.

He convulsed on the small cot.

Tbc

_**Author's Note**_

_Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and generous reviews. It's encouraging and sustaining to know you guys are out there. For those guests I can't reply to directly, you're much appreciated as well. I wish this site would allow direct responses to guests as well as members. For those of you following who haven't yet left a review, please consider it. I love hearing from you all. Neal is coming to an end of his torment. Hope to have the next chapter up soon._

_Thanks for your time and interest._


	6. Chapter 6

AWAKE DREAMING

**Chapter 6**

Everything is so still, so quiet. He's somewhere between dream and waking, exactly where he doesn't know. The voices in his head have stopped, mercifully. No matter, they will be back. They have been his only constant. Here at least, he could allow himself to hope.

Some part of him was left behind, he could feel a shadow… an emptiness in him. A fragmented image of someone slips into his mind, but he can't remember. It might have been someone who loved him, he blinks the memory away. He's so tired; he wants it all to be over.

He hears her. The same voice from before…softly calling him, true and clear against the seductive whispers to surrender and blistering shouts of betrayal and abandonment. It was a moment of grace in his despair, all truth was not lost. The broken memory of a long ago pact, a covenant flickered in the darkness. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Before he could grasp onto it, he felt a twist of fear in his stomach. He was returning to consciousness, the screaming and agony of the voices in his head. He felt bereft as he was leaving the truth of himself, leaving her when he'd just found her again. Neal took a deep breath, his heart turning over and over in his chest. He tried to stop it, but he couldn't. He was waking. His eyes were filled with dizzying light, hands were on his body, pressing into his chest. He gasped for air. Bit by bit his white walled prison came into focus, someone was watching. It was him. His cold gray eyes peering down at him.

"We almost lost you, Neal," Joseph smiled.

"I'm so glad to have you back."

_**wcwc**_

"Peter, if what she told you is true; Neal's been brainwashed. He's deep under the control of the program. He's dangerous, especially to you," Diana's voice was tight. "Can we trust her? What if this whole thing is a set up? Can we trust Rachel Turner?"

"I trust her on this. She's still in love with Neal."

"Can we trust Neal, he's not himself?" she glanced at Peter.

There were very few people he trusted at the moment and Diana was at the top of the short list. He trusted her with his life and now Neal's. His chances of extracting Neal improved by one hundred percent with her at his side, but he was prepared to go alone.

"Diana, he's being tortured. I can't let that happen. Your being here is more than I could ever ask for. I understand the risks involved and if you want to walk away."

"You didn't ask. You didn't have to. I volunteered. Besides, you need me and Caffrey knows better than to pull anything around me," she smiled unconvincingly.

Peter concentrated on the road ahead. They were traveling north following the directions Mozzie and Sally generated from triangulating the coordinates Rachel had given him. Peter put his foot to the pedal pushing the car as fast as he could toward their destination, toward Neal.

_**wcwc**_

"No. God, no, no… no."

His body was stretched to its limits. His brain was pulsing with pain, and there was no safe place he could find from it. Every part of him was on fire. For the first time, he screamed. He screamed until all the air in his lungs rushed out, until he was still.

"What do you want from me?" he managed to say when he could speak.

"I'm just asking that you stop fighting me. Then all this stops." Joseph continued to watch him.

He could feel it coming, fast and burning. He couldn't stop it. He heard himself vomit. He was bent over the cot, he tried to push away from the mess and stench.

"Neal I can help you. You can sleep." Joseph placed his hand on his shoulder as he struggled to gain control of the pain racking his body. "I can make this all go away, end your suffering."

"I'm not fighting you." He tried to sit up.

"I think you're lying to me. You're a master of lies, Neal. When you're ready to be truthful, I'll come back." Joseph turned toward the door and opened it to leave.

"Stop! Please," he said despising the pleading in his voice.

All he wanted was for it to stop. He couldn't take anymore. He couldn't. Was it minutes, hours, days; he didn't know anymore.

"I'll do it, whatever you want," his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I want you to kill someone," Joseph said with an eerie detachment.

"What?" Neal tried to focus on what Joseph said.

"I want you to kill this man."

Joseph gave Neal a picture of Peter. Neal's hands trembled as he looked at the man in the picture. He didn't know him. At least he didn't believe he did. But he knew he belonged to someone, was someone's son, someone's lover…someone's friend.

"I can't." The shaking worsened. He couldn't kill anyone.

"Then you stay here, Neal. All alone."

He heard it, again. A whisper. _Remember this moment. We will always find each other. _It was the same soft voice.

"Take charge Neal. End all of this, no one can help you, it's all up to you." Joseph was standing over him.

It was true. He was a master of lies. He knew it was easier for someone to accept a lie rather than even a broken piece of the truth.

"I'll do it." he told Joseph. I'll do anything you want."

_You don't know what's inside of you. _A memory came back to him.

He based jumped off a building in Manhattan once. It wasn't as tough as it sounds. You just needed to shut out everything, narrow your focus, concentrate your senses and fall somewhere in between.

He jumped. The static was getting louder, filling his ear canals to bursting. But he was falling now. They couldn't reach him now. He was beyond pain, beyond the voices and their relentless pursuit. No match for gravity's sweet embrace, he was gone. Gone.

_**Wcwc**_

The car turned down the empty road. It slowed, tires crunching over the gravel.

"This is it," Diana's stomach was a knot of nerves.

"Are you alright?" Peter asked.

"No. I'll be better when we have Neal. What do you need me to do?"

"When we find him, let me approach him first."

She admired his confidence in Neal, always had. She prayed it was not misplaced. They stopped the car on the perimeter of the compound. Peter killed the engine.

"I don't want to lose our advantage, we walk from here."

They covered the distance quickly. Barely breaking a sweat, they stepped into the shadow of the building. There was no sign of anyone. Peter felt his gut tighten, something struck a wrong note. He gestured for Diana to cover him. He came to an abrupt stop. The door was open, wide open.

"What the hell are they playing at?" Diana looked at Peter.

"They knew we were coming," he steadied his breathing, his anger.

"She set us up Peter. Rachel Turner set us up, we never should have trusted her."

"I don't think so. It's Linszky. He's a genius. He's been orchestrating all of this from the very beginning. He knew Neal was a perfect match for Rachel and she wouldn't be able to resist him, he knew Neal's weaknesses, he knew mine. He had extensive profiles on all of us."

"So this is what he wants. He wants you here," Diana frowned. "We are playing his game, and I don't like it."

"Neither do I. But I don't have a choice, I can't leave him."

"Linszky wants Neal to kill me. He knows it would break him. Rachel said it would be the last step in his indoctrination."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Diana looked into Peter's eyes giving him the assurance she didn't feel. So far, she thought to herself, this guy Linszky had been wining every round of this game. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Good. Let's give the man what he wants," Peter nodded.

Convinced Linszky had no men inside, they moved quickly through the empty building. The silence was deafening. They found themselves in a small corridor with a door standing open. Without a word Peter walked in.

And there was Neal.

He was sitting on a small cot against the back wall. He was gaunt and frail, his eyes haunted.

Peter's heart sped up. He had expected this, but the reality of it hit him hard. It seemed a lifetime ago that he and Neal talked on his front stairs. Neal was so happy, excited like a little kid; he thought he was free. The man in front of him, caught at his heart.

Neal held a gun in his lap. Peter's heart tightened another degree, he was aware of Neal's eyes on him. Peter stepped farther into the room. Diana held back, her hand tightening on her service revolver.

Neal was motionless. He said nothing.

"Neal?"

He could see by the flicker of his eyes he heard him. Every bit of Peter was focused on getting his friend back to safety. Peter steadied his heart.

"Can I sit down?"

Neal didn't respond.

Peter pulled the white plastic chair from the wall and put it in the middle of the room.

"You're shivering," he said softly.

"I'm cold." Neal continued to watch him closely. This is the man he's supposed to kill.

"Neal they gave you something."

He was trying to remember how he knew him.

"Someone died," Neal muttered.

"No one's dead Neal," Peter tried to keep the distress from his voice.

Neal dropped his eyes to the gun and then looked up at Peter. Peter was looking at him with such tenderness and concern. Pieces of memory were coming to him_. Peter is a good man, I saw it in his eyes…. I have my father's eyes… But not his heart._

"Listen to me Neal. Your brain has been manipulated. They've administered you a drug. They've made you believe things that aren't true. I can help you."

"No one can help me."

"Why? Why, Neal?"

"I have to kill someone. I have to kill my friend."

"I have to kill you."

Neal felt his brain tearing. He knew he had this one chance before he wouldn't be able to fight it. His truth would be stolen from him, his life erased. Another memory came to him, he saw his mom in their Chevy Impala on the Old West Bridge, his father walking away, a dark haired girl looking out from the plane's window. It all seemed connected but it couldn't be. His eyes closed. He could see a woman, in the kitchen….baking. She smiled at him. He wondered if he could stay there. He looked into the camera overhead, watching him.

"I have to go," a single drop of blood fell from his nose onto his lap.

"Where Neal?" Peter's heart was racing.

Neal raised the gun to his head. He had no time to waste.

"No! Don't!" Peter shouted.

Neal jerked as a gun fired, it was the last thing he remembered.

_**wcwc**_

Peter sat quietly in the company of his friends. Elizabeth was talking to Mozzie and June who just arrived. Diana was on the phone with Theo's sitter. Jones had gone on a coffee run. It was just the buffer he needed from the emotions churning inside him. He was grateful.

"You must be Agent Burke," a young man approached him his hand extended. His face was kind. I'm Ben White, Neal's doctor." The room went quiet. He sat down on the couch next to Peter.

"Neal's doing well. We performed emergency dialysis; it removed just about 99% of the drugs from his body. The rest should clear naturally in the next few days."

June put her arm around Elizabeth's shoulder and caught Mozzie's eye, as he sighed in relief.

"He's just back from surgery and his surgeon said he should make a complete recovery from his wound. If you would like to see him…"

"Of course we would," Elizabeth looked at Peter who hadn't moved. It was if he hadn't heard.

"Is it okay if we all come in?" Diana deflected attention from Peter's awkward silence.

"Absolutely, he's in a private room. Just don't expect too much. He's fairly sedated still from the anesthesia."

Peter entered Neal's room and was immediately overwhelmed by the understanding of what he'd almost lost. Glad he wasn't alone, Elizabeth instinctively slipped her arm around his waist. Jones arrived armed with coffee and everyone settled in to wait.

At ten minutes to the end of visiting hours, June laid her hand on Peter's arm to signal she was leaving. Mozzie was going to see to it she got home. Peter had already sent an exhausted Diana home. Her baby needed her and she needed Theo. Jones offered her a ride. I'm glad you were there he said as he hugged her tightly.

Elizabeth wanted to stay with him and Neal, but he persuaded her to go home with June and Mozzie. She understood. Diana told her everything. She knew Peter was getting through this one minute at a time and keeping everything simple was how he'd do it.

The room was quiet now as he watched over Neal. Neal had been unconscious since he collapsed in his arms. He shifted position, but he didn't wake up. He was astonished at how open and peaceful Neal looked, despite everything he had been through.

He didn't hear the nurse come in to see to Neal.

"You can come back in a few minutes," she said to Peter. "I'll be quick. I promise."

"I'm his partner, I'm staying."

"So you're the one that shot him," the nurse eyed Peter.

Peter flinched slightly and shifted from one foot to the other. His aim had been true. He put a round in Neal's arm; a flesh wound clean through and through, enough to make him drop the gun. He couldn't get the image of Neal's face at that moment out of his head, a mixture of gratitude and hope. Something had passed between them, something that never could be taken back.

"Well then, if you're staying. You might as well make yourself useful. Help me turn him."

Peter nodded and held the sheet tight as the nurse gently rolled Neal toward him. The slight movement elicited a cry of pain.

"Can't you give him something?"

"No. We need him to wake up now. This is a good pain, his brain is waking up. I'm going to take his blood pressure." She came around to Peter's side to get the monitor. She saw the distress clouding Peter's face. "He's going to be fine."

Peter nodded his thanks.

"Keep an eye on our patient, I'll be right back." She rolled the monitor to its place in the corner.

As Peter moved Neal's arm into what he thought was a more comfortable position, Neal reached out and took his hand. His grip was strong.

"See," the nurse had returned. "He's waking up. You can talk to him."

"Neal, I'm here. Can you hear me?"

Neal said something, his eyes were still closed. Peter couldn't hear it clearly. He leaned in closer, face to face. Then Neal did something completely unexpected, he placed Peter's hand over his heart.

"What did he say?" The nurse had come to stand next to Peter.

Peter struggled to hold on to his tears; he knew that if he let go he would be undone, completely undone.

"He said… magic. Magic brought me to him."

_**wcwc**_

Peter fell asleep somewhere around dawn, his head resting on Neal's bed. Reese Hughes's shook him awake.

"Caffrey looks good." Hughes was looking down at Neal as he slept.

"How long have you been here?" Peter sat back in his chair.

"Long enough to get a report from the night nurse; she left this tray for you. Made me promise to make you eat something."

"You did good, Peter."

"I almost lost him Reese."

"But you didn't."

"Do you know what I did?"

"Does it matter? He's alive because of you. Caffrey would hurt himself before he hurt you. I think he'll forgive you, Hughes continued to watch Neal sleep. The boy needs you Peter. He needs you to need him, that's what he's always wanted."

"Reese, I don't know how to thank you. We never would have found him without your help."

"Eat your breakfast Peter, Reese squeezed his shoulder. Give Neal my regards when he wakes up. I'd say you two have a lot to talk about. I can't stay, I have some loose ends to tie up."

While Neal was still asleep Peter took the opportunity to go to the men's room and wash up. The next shift was coming on, as he walked the hallway. When he got back to Neal's room Diana was at the door.

"Hey Boss, how's Neal doing?"

"Still asleep."

"Dr. White said to expect that. How are you holding up?"

"Honestly, I won't know until I talk to him. I didn't expect you until later, is everything all right? Is Elizabeth…?"

"Elizabeth's fine, I just spoke with her. She and Mozzie are coming over, as soon as she picks up a change of clothes for you."

"What is it Di?" he could see it in her eyes.

"Rachel Turner was found dead in her prison cell this morning. The official report is suicide."

"She would never kill herself." Peter took a breath.

"They got to her boss."

"She did love him. She knew she would be signing her death warrant when she gave up those coordinates. She asked me if I could do what was necessary to save him. She knew, Diana."

"Well Linszky won't be hurting anyone else."

"Why, what happened?"

"Last night while we were extracting Neal, Clinton and Reese followed the other set of coordinates Mozzie and Sally decrypted. It led them to Linszky. Apparently, he was monitoring the entire thing from a remote location. He planned to have Neal kill you and record it as part of his sick plan. He was collecting data on Neal's neural readouts when they made the bust. Jones took him into custody last night."

"So Jones knew about this when he was here with us last night and Reese. Reese was here this morning, he never said a word." Peter scrubbed his hand through his hair.

"I kinda got the impression from Jones, this was a no way near the book operation backed by NSA. The fewer people who knew the better. Besides, you were pretty occupied."

A nurse stepped out into the hallway, "Mr. Caffrey's awake."

"Go have that talk, it's about time." Diana grinned and pushed Peter in the direction of Neal's room.

_**wcwc**_

"You're awake," Peter came over to Neal's bed.

"I think," his lips were dry and his voice hoarse. "Honestly, I'm not certain of anything right now."

"Would you like something to drink?" Neal nodded and Peter supported a cup of water for him and Neal sipped from the straw. Peter's hands were warm and smelled like hospital soap. Neal drank two cups of water.

"How long have I been out?"

"About a day, we found you yesterday. Do you remember what happened to you?"

"Pretty much," Neal shuddered at the memories. He closed his eyes and then opened them. He repeated the process several times. It was as if all the empty spaces in his brain, all the places Joseph had tried to steal from him were filling up all at once. He felt like he was being reassembled. He shook his head and tried to breathe through it.

"Are you alright?" and anxious Peter was standing close. "Should I call the nurse?" his hand was on the call button.

"No, he could clearly see how worried Peter looked. Neal placed his hand over Peter's. I need to remember. I thought I was going to die, Peter. All alone in there."

"Oh, Neal," Peter said tightening his grip on Neal's hand as if to keep from losing him again.

"Joseph told me June was dead and Mozzie was in prison, all because of me. Kate, Ellen…he said I hurt everyone around me."

"That son of a bitch," Peter wanted to punch something.

"The worst of it was when he had you come to say goodbye. You said you couldn't help me anymore. I would never change. I know now it was the drugs but I felt so alone and so … afraid. I still can't shake it." He thought he was ready for this, but he wasn't. He lowered his head, he didn't want Peter to see him cry.

"Neal, look at me. You're not alone. You have people who love you, friends and a family here. I'm so sorry I couldn't have found you sooner."

"I was going to run Peter. Before they took me I was going to run."

"We didn't give you much choice. I didn't give you much choice. Mozzie told me what happened with Hagen, what you did for me. I should have trusted you."

"It wasn't fair what I asked you to do. How could you change when I required you do the very thing I blamed you for. I'm so sorry for putting you in that position. But I need to know now… Neal that you're going to be alright?"

"Last night, you put a gun to your head."

"I know and you weren't responsible for it Peter. It's crazy but I felt someone was watching over us. How did you know I wasn't going to shoot you? I just had faith that I would be okay, I had faith in you. You once said when we don't have trust…"

"We have faith in each other," Peter took a deep breath. He had this ridiculous lump in his throat.

"Peter, are you crying?"

"No. I'm fine,"

"That's my line," Neal smiled. And just so you know, your nose is running."

"Okay. We're both fine." They both laughed.

"You're going to make me pull my stitches."

"We can't have that. You're going to need both hands, we have a stack of mortgage fraud cases waiting for us."

"What? You're not moving to DC?"

"Somebody's got to keep an eye on you. So what do you say?"

"As long as you don't shoot me again," Neal grinned.

"As long as you don't give me any bone head reasons to."

"Deal?"

"It's the best deal I ever made."

_**wcwc**_

The guards passed him through, wanded him and patted him down. The prison was totally concrete. It had no connection to the outside world, no windows, no sky or weather. The guard opened the door to the small interview room. Reese Hughes took a seat at the plain gray desk. A few minutes later the door opened and a prisoner shuffled in. The prisoner was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, with both his wrists and ankles shackled. He sat down across from Hughes.

"I don't think we have had the pleasure," he looked keenly at Hughes. I'm Dr. Joseph Linszky and you sir?"

"A friend of Neal Caffrey's."

Linszky shifted in his seat, Reese saw a fast calculation pass behind his eyes.

"How is Neal?"

"Reasonably well, considering the poison you pumped into him. His doctors say he will make a full recovery."

"I did what was necessary. People like you lack the full picture and the capacity to know what it takes to protect this country."

Reese slid the two pictures of a six year old Neal and Rachel across the gray table.

"You were supposed to protect them. I'd say you failed in every respect."

"When history judges my work, I think people will find what I did was justified. Why are you here?"

"Your program has been shut down. People like me, made sure of it. I wanted to tell you personally, communication has become so impersonal lately."

Reese stood and signaled for the guards. "You keep those Dr. Linszky, as a reminder of your work. You should have a great deal of time to think about it."

Joseph ran his finger over the face of the small boy, with the charming and sneaky smile. His last memory of Neal was him looking directly at the camera before he lifted the gun to his head. He defeated the program and was saved by the very man he was sent to kill.

"Extraordinary," Joseph thought. The program couldn't erase love.

The end.

_**Author's Notes**_

I'm struggling with the coming to a close of White Collar and it hasn't even ended yet. From the pilot, I've loved this show and its wonderful characters. White Collar inspired me to fulfill a lifelong ambition to write. My first work of fiction was a fan fiction I wrote four years ago, Night Prayer. I got such a warm and positive response from you guys that I went on to write more stories over the years. I think I'm a stronger writer as a result. All good things however come to an end. I will miss our much loved show. It's been a great ride. I hope I've entertained you along the way. Thank you.


End file.
